


Good Boy

by Anonymous



Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Choking, F/M, Femdom, Foot Fetish, Grinding, Master/Pet, Mildly Dubious Consent, Prompt Fill, Smut, but considering Booker is her hostage, dub-con just in case, maybe? - Freeform, so I'm tagging, that doesn't really matter, they're both into it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:40:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27290602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “Now tell me Booker, where is Andromache?”Oh. Right. He had forgotten how this whole thing started; Born from the frustration of years spent in isolation and the passion that comes from rage. Quynh had held his head underwater and Booker had spit the sea and the salt right back at her.She had slapped him across the face and Booker leant into it, moaning. The pair of them freezing in wonderment at the newfound element between them.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Quynh | Noriko, Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Quynh | Noriko
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26
Collections: Anonymous





	Good Boy

Quynh tightens her grip on the choke-chain wrapped around his neck and Booker falls to his knees, gasping as his airway is restricted and moaning despite the pain of it.

He’s naked, has been for days, dressed up in nothing but handcuffs and the metal choke chain she’s got wrapped around his throat. It’s the kind that people use on overly muscled and vicious dogs.

He’d always thought they were particularly cruel.

In contrast, Quynh is dressed in her long red coat, overlapping her knees just a bit, which are covered in fine black leather boots. Booker wonders if she’s wearing anything else underneath? The thought of it makes his cock leak. He whimpers and tries his best to lean against her but then she is pulling him back with a tight grip on his hair, slick with sweat.

“I am not your wife, Booker.” Quynh hisses, staring down at him with her eyes like broken glass, threatening to cut and slice him the longer that he looks into them. “Do not expect me to bring you pleasure. You’ll have to do that on your own.”

She shoves him back, hard, and Booker can’t help the pitiful whine that escapes him. He’s been on the edge like this for far too long. His arousal is beginning to ache. He’s tired, horny, and handcuffed, there is no way he can bring himself off, not when she won’t even touch him.

“But I suppose you’ve been a good doggy today, haven’t you?”

He perks up at that, and hates himself a little bit for the way that it makes his head swim with lust.

He nods his head quickly and Quynh grins, teeth sharp as the collar’s spikes digging into his neck.

She steps forward, one leg held neatly out. The crease of her coat falls open slightly and there’s nothing underneath her coat.

Nothing at all.

“Fuck,” Booker pants, face reddening, cock twitching and standing at attention.

“Ah, ah, ah. Good doggy’s don’t talk, remember?”

Fuck. Right. Yes.

_“Woof,”_ Booker says, slightly sarcastically.

Quynh narrows her eyes and he apologized with a whimper. His eyes cast down to the fine leather coated heel of her boots. He wants her. All of her. He wants to be destroyed by her.

Booker whines again, this time embarrassingly loud and desperate.

She smiles at him, a small and private grin that is almost sincere.

“Good boy.”

She moves her foot out gently, tracing the curve of his length with the toe of her boot.

“That’s all you’re getting,” she pants, her gaze heated and lustful. Less composed than she was just moments ago and that sparks a fire deep down inside of Booker’s belly.

“Go ahead,” Quynh says. “Make the best of it.”

He lurches forward, grinding his cock against the leather of her shoe, slicking it up with pre-cum and moaning like a fucking animal, a dog, a damn bitch in heat.

_“Fuck,”_ Booker pants in-between groans, humping at her heel, grinding against her leg, taking all of the pleasure that he can manage.

It seems that Quynh is not so indifferent as she pretends to be. She lets Booker’s curse go unpunished and slides her free hand (the one not holding the choke-chain tightly) down beneath her coat.

Booker hears the slick sounds of her pleasuring herself, he can image the heat of her, the feel of her on his own fingertips and suddenly it’s all too much for him. He cums against her leather clad foot with a shout, moaning like a dying man, panting like a bloody harlot.

“Good boy,” Quynh gasps, eyes closed, hand moving beneath her coat in a rapid motion until she too, is following after Booker, moaning and gasping, grinding down on her own hand and chasing the final remnants of her pleasure.

Booker wishes that she’d let him touch her.

He wishes that-

The chain is pulled on him so suddenly that he is jerked forward, head arching back from the force of it. Quynh grabs him by the hair and falls to her knees before him.

“Now tell me Booker, where is Andromache?”

Oh. Right. He had forgotten how this whole thing had started; Born from the frustration of years spent in isolation and the passion that comes from rage. Quynh had held his head underwater and Booker had spit the sea and the salt right back at her.

She had slapped him across the face and Booker leant into it, moaning, the pair of them freezing in wonderment at the newfound element between them.

Somewhere along the line, this fight between them became a game of just how much Booker could take from her.

“I don’t know,” Booker answers, still trying to catch his breath,chest heaving and flushed. “I don’t-“

Quynh slaps him so hard that it knocks him to the side. She climbs on top of him, kicking him onto his back and straddling him in a way that makes her coat fall open, revealing the rich expanse of her skin and her breast underneath.

Booker’s mouth waters. He aches to touch her, aches to fuck her and make her beg on his cock.

“Can you go again, doggy?”

Booker takes a second to breath, tries to collect himself and revel in the sting of his cheek, the ache in his windpipe and the interest that begins to pulse with life in his loins. Fuck, he really can go again.

“Yes.”

“What was that?”

“Woof.”

“Good boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ya'll don't even look at me I can't believe I wrote this (But I hope you fellow heathens like it!)
> 
> There was a kinkmemem prompt for Quynh/Booker that I wrote this for. So I'll try to find it again and link it below


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